


Unmade

by AcidArrow



Category: Avengers (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: BAMF Loki, Bottom Clint, Brainwashing, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton-centric, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Mind Control, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Past Clint Barton/Loki, Protective Natasha Romanov, Rough Oral Sex, Sub Clint Barton, The Avengers (2012) Compliant, The Avengers (2012) Spoilers, Top Loki, Warning: Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcidArrow/pseuds/AcidArrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? </i><br/>Pull you out, and stuff something else in? <br/>You know what it’s like to be unmade...?
</p>
<p>The Tesseract has shown him his next target - or rather, shown the parasite that’s living in his brain. In this different take on the brief Clint/Loki scene in the movie, Hawkeye delivers the news to his new boss, and the God of Mischief relishes in the opportunity to ensure his new pet is fully aware of his place in this new world he’s building...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unmade

“ _ Clint...? _ ”

That was... his name. He knew that, somewhere deep down within his subconsciousness, that it was his name and that it belonged to him, and that he probably should respond to whomever was using it. But his lips wouldn’t move; they only moved when the Boss wanted them to, and the Boss was nowhere to be seen. He had been  _ kidnapped _ by the enemy - he was at their mercy.

Either side of his hips, his hands - fatal weapons in their own right - balled themselves up into tight fists. The world spun all around him in a vivid, hazy whirl of whites and greys and tiny flashing lights, his physical form pinned down by both the drugs they had given him and the leather straps that restrained him against the metal gurney. 

That... that  _ feeling _ in the back of his head, calling to him. It was... like a migraine. Only worse. It was constantly there, a throbbing in the very back of his mind, reminding him... reminding him of... of...

_... something I forgot ... _

Something... something he...  _ forgot _ . Something  _ important _ . 

“ _ Clint...? Clint, are you in there? Can you hear me...? _ ”

Who... who was Clint? Oh, right. That was his name... wasn’t it? No, no... it wasn’t, he had no name, he had no name and no identity other than that he was at the mercy of the glorious, the righteous, the magnificent, the-

“ _ Clint! Clint, it’s Natasha, please... if you’re in there, Clint, you NEED to fight it! You NEED to fight back against this! Do you understand me!? _ ”

Chapped lips parted and teeth clenched, bared,  _ hard _ \- and an animal scream tore itself from the back of his throat, bloody and dark and desperate. The archer’s strong, disciplined body bucked up hard as he began to wrench and yank against his restraints with renewed vigor, causing the smaller agent who was leaning over him to jerk back just a little as her survival instincts kicked in.

He was oblivious to her, he was fighting an entirely different battle somewhere deep within his subconsciousness... a battle he wasn’t even aware was happening.

Because he had been  _ kidnapped _ by the _ enemy _ \- he was at their  _ mercy _ . And he wanted nothing else at that moment,  _ nothing _ else, but to get back to his boss and fulfill his duties to him as his trusted and capable right-hand man. 

_ That is YOUR purpose... _

*

It wasn’t difficult to find his new  _ boss _ .

It was almost as if he were being guided. As if that, that cube- _ thing _ , the Tesseract - the thing that had poked holes in his brain for the past half an hour - told his body what to do, and then his body just  _ did _ it. Words were spoken without his permission, hands moved in ways he hadn’t approved. Something had been...  _ pushed _ ... inside of him when that sceptre had made contact with his chest, inside of his head... something that had no business being there. Something obedient, something...  _ bloodthirsty _ . 

Within his own head, he screamed and snarled and spouted obscenity after obscenity, but nothing listened. There was nothing there  _ to _ listen, at least not as far as he knew. Whatever entity, whatever  _ parasite _ had been crammed into his head - forcing his consciousness back against his skull in a way that felt like he was observing his life and actions from above with absolutely no way to influence or affect them - didn’t seem to pay attention to his protests and resistance, if it even noticed him at all. If it even knew he existed. 

He’d never felt so helpless, so totally and utterly  _ useless _ to do anything other than sit back and watch as his body, identity, and skills were violated and used in a way he never even knew was possible until now. He was... fearless, one-hundred per cent reckless, and even in just the span of the last few hours, he had pushed his body past the physical limits that he always thought he had.

They’d taken refuge in an old warehouse they’d found with an absolutely abysmal security system, but the room he strode into when he opened the door to the back office Loki had claimed as his own definitely wasn’t one that could have been here before... definitely wasn’t the one that was  _ supposed _ to be there, if you could even explain how  _ that _ was possible.

Lush, velvet drapes in deep emerald greens, golds, and blacks hung from the walls of a vast, glorious throne room, the floor and walls of which appeared to be constructed from either solid ice or some sort of beautiful, translucent marble. The instant his combat boot touched the hard, smooth floor, a blossom of red sprung up beneath it. The thin crimson carpet pooled from the door he was halfway through into the room, slicing it in two, rising up a set of stairs, and halting at the feet of the raven-haired, porcelain-skinned Asgardian prince. 

Any  _ what the actual fucking shit is this _ that Clint was feeling at that moment was lost the instant he was forced to make prolonged and intense eye contact with Loki, despite how hard he fought to turn his attention away. His eyes were glued there by the will of whatever the  _ fuck _ had been forced to inhabit his cranium, though ‘forced’ might not be the right word - it seemed to be having a pretty good fucking time with it, that was for sure.

Loki was sitting in a large, exquisite, gilded throne, draped in his usual colours and leathers, though he was now wearing a horned helmet that matched his seating decor. Beside him, leaning against the arm of the throne, was that sceptre. Hawkeye fought viciously with everything he had to anchor his feet to the floor but they moved with a will of their own, following the path the carpet had laid out for him before pausing to kneel at the base of the stairs. His head dropped low in a bow, and in his moment of shame, he took comfort in the fact that at least he didn’t have the look at the  _ smug _ bastard right now.

_ Just you fucking wait, _ he thought, as the  _ parasite _ in his brain lifted his head to meet Loki’s gaze again. The bastard grinned and, deep within the captured body and brain, Clint grinned right back at him.  _ Just you fucking wait ‘til Nat’ gets her hands on you... man, she and Coulson gonna SHRED you for this, you entitled prissy son-of-a-- _

“Come,” said the God of Mischief, the faintest smile tugging one corner of his mouth up ever so slightly. One slender, bare hand extended to pat the seat beside him in a blatant invitation to the archer.

“Sit here with me, by my right hand. That seems quite fitting, don’t you think?”

Despite his usual resistance - which, regardless of how tiring it was, didn’t cease for an instant - Clint’s legs ascended the stairs to the low balcony and carried him to the offered chair, much smaller and more humble than the throne Loki had constructed for himself, and he carefully seated himself, his hands resting in a ready position on his knees. Being this close to him, physically, was enough to give the archer goosebumps all up and down his bare arms - and not just because of the light, chilly aura that seemed to hang around him, either. 

“I trust that Doctor Selvig introduced you to the Tesseract?”

_ Oh, you mean that crazy fucking _ \- “Yes, sir.”  _ -thing that couldn’t decide if it-  _ “It was interesting.”  _ -wanted to torture me or get me off!? _

Loki leaned in a little, the long fingers of one hand drumming a pattern on the arm of his throne. “What did it show you?”

He didn’t want to remember the things it had shown him. None of them. Some had been memories - things he had forced to the back of his mind from his childhood, things that made him feel weak and angry and afraid. All emotions that had no place in his life anymore, and yet that...  _ thing _ had forced him to endure each and every second of his existence - past, present, and possible futures - in the space of maybe a half hour. That was enough to rattle anybody’s cage.

Thankfully, though, the Mindfuck in his head wasn’t interested in his past or memories. It had a big boy job to do.

“My next target,” was all it said, in Clint’s own voice. Loki’s slender fingers - they were like a woman’s, just as soft and pale and delicate - lifted to his jaw and he stroked his lower lip as he regarded the archer intensely.

After a short pause, he chuckled, a sound like steel scraping on ice. “But surely that can’t be all, Agent Barton,” he purred, grinning from ear to ear. “You were gone a while...” 

_ Fuck you. _ “No.”  _ Fuck YOU! _ “It showed me memories. And the future,  _ your _ future.”

Those cold, sinister eyes locked with his own for a few seconds, and he would’ve given everything he owned -  _ including _ his  _ favourite _ , beloved, hand-crafted bow  _ and _ his Xbox - just to punch him. 

Just  _ once _ . Right in that smug, pretty face of his.

Loki chuckled again, a sound that was starting to grate on Clint’s nerves, and let his hand drop from his face over the arm of his throne, his fingers just brushing the top of the archer’s left hand. Subconsciously, Hawkeye’s index finger twitched; he’d never enjoyed having his hands touched, especially by anyone he didn’t fully trust, a category which Loki definitely fit into. 

“Memories... I would be interested, Agent Barton,  _ so _ interested, in the memories that brought you to this point in your life. The point where you can snap a man’s neck between your bare hands as easily as breaking down kindling.”

As Clint forced himself to focus on anything  _ other than _ their escape from the underground S.H.I.E.L.D. bunker, during which he had lost count of the number of agents he had killed or injured, Loki’s fingers began to gently stroke his knuckles, dipping down into the soft valleys of skin and teasing the sensitive nerves there.

“You know, my brother loves this planet... its people... I never understood his fascination.” As Loki’s index finger reached the index knuckle, which twitched every time he touched it, he traced a line down to the thumb knuckle, slowly teasing the nerve endings up and down his thumb. “I never understood how someone with as much purpose and prestige as he could be so interested in a people so...  _ petty. _ So  _ weak _ . So heart-wrenchingly  _ unpurposed _ .”

Loki’s fingertips never stopped moving, slithering and creeping across his skin with just the right amount of pressure that it stimulated the nerves and caused the hairs on his forearm to start to rise and his left thigh to prickle up into goosebumps. His hand obediently turned itself over on his knee, and Loki’s touch skated gently across his palm, following each and every one of the lines there. The breaths from Clint’s body came slow and steady, but inside, he felt like he was hyperventilating. 

“Because you see, I always perceived humans as petty, and weak, and unpurposed... pointless souls dragging their heels through their own morose existence, desperate for someone, anyone, to rule them. Needing that domination, seeking it  _ out _ ... Dictatorship would be  _ welcomed _ here by those who need a cruel but strong hand to guide them.”

Natasha gave the most brutal, blissful massages he had ever experienced, but even one of her well-oiled, good day rub-downs was nothing compared to the attention Loki’s single hand was lavishing upon him. Nails teased dangerously over the veins exposed on the underside of his wrist, scraping themselves up to the crease of his elbow and back down again with gruelling slowness. Every inch of exposed flesh was tenderly sensitive and submissive as Loki’s thumb pressed down into the flesh of his forearm, between the tendons, to rub the muscles almost lovingly. His entire body was covered in goosebumps and a visible shudder ran up and down his spine every now and then. If his arm could’ve gotten a boner, it would’ve done.

“And from what I have heard, and seen, humans are just that. They live by rules and science and logic that suits them, but does not prepare them - hedonistic and false religions forged anew, when they used to worship my kin as Gods. Petty, weak, unpurposed. But  _ you _ ...”

The both euphoric and torturous massage ended as Loki lifted his hand to Clint’s jaw, cupping his face in a way that was both affectionate and inquisitive. Clint, who had been doing everything he could not to notice or react to the tingly, heavenly sensations that were being administered to his sensitized nerves, was yanked sharply back into reality as the demigod’s face was suddenly inches from his own.

“You are... something  _ else _ , Agent Barton. Something I never anticipated I would find here. Something...  _ strong _ .” Every breath he exhaled swept across the archer’s lips, that was how close they were, and Clint’s fight - which he had ceased in order to do the subconscious version of putting his fingers in his ears and screaming  _ la la la, I can’t hear you, I’m somewhere else right now _ \- picked up again. He wasn’t sure why the  _ hell _ the bastard wanted to be that close to him, but he wasn’t cool with it by  _ any _ means.

“In just the few minutes I was able to watch you, you displayed skill and technique closer to parr with a warrior of Asgard than I am entirely comfortable with.” 

_ So, what then, you’re going to kill me? _

“But while I considered simply disposing of you once you have outlived your worth to me... well.” He grinned cruelly, and his thumb gently swept across Clint’s chapped lower lip, drawing another involuntary shudder from the brainwashed man. “Let’s just say that your worth might not extend only until this world is under my rule.” 

And then, as quickly as he had closed in on him, he was gone, and the air around him was painfully cold no more. Suitably creeped out, he wanted to rub his jaw, which stung from Loki’s icy grip, but the Mindfuck kept his hands planted firmly on his knees and responded with a short, blunt, “What is my worth, sir?”

The humanoid  _ alien _ \- because, let’s be frank here, that was what he  _ was _ \- laughed at that, and shook his head.

“Oh, not yet, Barton. First, I want you to humour me, and tell me... how does a  _ human _ \- a man of weak-breeding, poor environment, foul diet, and systemically fragile society - learn to fight with the strength and skill of an Asgardian?”

“Through training, sir,” replied the Mindfuck almost immediately. 

“Training?”

“Weights, cardio, dynamic strength training, aerobics, hot yoga, circuit training, free-running, cross-country, swimming, football, twenty-one years of basic, intermediate, advanced archery experience and training, knife throwing, martial arts, and the recreational playing of rhythmic percussive instruments for focus and finger speed and dexterity.”

_ ‘Sirrrrrrr’ _ , Clint added as a sarcastic internal afterthought, more than a little pissed that the Mindfuck had decided to mention his brief stint at attempting hot yoga with Coulson. They’d both lasted two sessions before they both became just ‘far too busy’ to keep going.

Any hilarious memory to distract him from the current line of questioning he was heading down... 

“That’s a great deal of training for such a small, frail body to endure.” Loki brushed a few of the fallen strands of Clint’s waxed bangs out of his face tenderly. Through the smokescreen he was putting down over his vision of late night office sex with Natasha, which was far more pleasant than this conversation, he could see via forced eye contact that the bastard looked almost  _ sympathetic. _

_ Piece of fucking shit... _

“My body’s not frail anymore.”

“Oh, is that so? Your human body is no longer frail? And how many years would you say it hasn’t been frail for, Agent Barton?”

“Twenty-four years, sir.”

“And what is your current age?”

“Thirty-three, sir.”

Loki’s eyebrow lifted into a delicate arc. Clint wondered if it was because of what he had just admitted, that he personally considered himself a ‘strong’ person since he was nine years old, or if it was because he wasn’t sure how long humans actually lived for.

“So. In your childhood, you found this... purpose? This strength?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How?”

And that was it - the start of the questions he had been dreading, questions he didn’t even like answering for the people he knew and cared for and trusted, and so he struggled not to focus on it with any of his senses, to remove himself completely from the situation and go back to drinking mai tais on the beach in Hawaii with Coulson and Nat that one summer they were stationed out there for a few weeks...

“... I killed my parents.”

“Why?”

“Because my father was an abusive asshole, and my mother did nothing to stop it. They deserved it, sir.”

Loki’s eyes almost  _ sparkled _ . It was... a disturbing reaction to what he had just been forced to admit not of his own volition, the way his thin lips curled and his eyes widened a little with wonder, and he leaned in closer again, almost as close as he had been before, his voice quieter when he next spoke.

“Tell me how you killed them, Barton. I want to know every... single... detail.”

_ He thinks it was bloody and violent... the sick, twisted fu--  _ “It wasn’t bloody. I killed them... passively.”

“How?”

“I cut the hydraulic brake lines on the car.”

The Mindfuck could obviously tell that Loki had no idea how these ‘Midgarian’ (as he called them) automobiles worked, so it explained, as Clint proceeded to bury himself deeper in the warm, fuzzy memories that were so much more pleasant than... all of this. 

“I saw it on a crime show. So I took the pliers from the garage, the ones my old man used to threaten to break our knuckles with. And I climbed under the car, and cut the brake line. It took all of my strength, I almost couldn’t do it. My brother could’a helped but I didn’t want him to know. Both my parents were in the car comin’ off the highway, and when the brakes ran out of fluid, he couldn’t stop it in time.”

As much as he was trying to ignore what was happening around him, he couldn’t ignore the fact that those words had just come tumbling out of his mouth so... easily. His mouth closed, and his face was calm, but inside he was reeling. How... he hadn’t even told  _ Natasha _ that, and here he was, casually spouting off the deepest, darkest, closest-kept secrets of his entire three-and-some-decade existence on this planet. 

If he hadn’t been afraid before, he was now absolutely terrified. If Loki was able to coax  _ that _ out of him so easily...

_ Oh, God. Nat... Phil... oh, fuck, LAURA... no... no, don’t think about them, think about something else, anything else...! _

The alien’s spindly, white fingers were on his face again, cupping his jaw and stroking his cheek tenderly with the pad of his thumb. “Your father was an horrific man, filled with lies and deceit and cunning and pain... and so you ended him.” He chuckled as his thumb slid up to meet his forefinger, stroking gently down the side of Clint’s throat right between his jaw and his earlobe, where the sensitive cluster of nerves were waiting to issue another shudder down his spine. “That is certainly something I can empathize with...

“And then what, Barton? Tell me more about this strength you found... this strength that makes you...  _ more _ than human.”

And he did. Clint listened in agony as his lips moved of their own will, spouting his entire life story right up until the time when he joined S.H.I.E.L.D. as the field operative known as Hawkeye - the circus, travelling the country, wanting to do right for once in his life, trying, failing, sucking some quick dick to earn twenty bucks when he was short on cash, falling in with the Black Widow and... the feelings there. Something in Loki’s eyes lit up when he mentioned... emotions... but he said nothing.

Yet.

“And then S.H.I.E.L.D... the ones who had the Tesseract. They completed your training?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And they are the ones who control where and when you quest and wage war?”

“I don’t exactly ‘wage war’, sir, I’m a field agent. I wage quiet chaos.”

“And they control where and when?”

“Yes, sir.”

Loki’s hand slid up Clint’s face, his thumb brushing the archer’s eyebrow, before the long, sharp digits slid their way into his waxed bangs and through his hair, nails scraping across his scalp. A low throaty groan tore itself from the back of his mouth without his permission, a sensual sound that he instantly regretted making as the alien’s lips twisted in another cruel grin.

“And surely you didn’t always agree with them? Have you ever... rebelled against them before?”

_ I’m not rebelling against them--  _ “Yes, sir.”  _ \--you piece of shit. _

“Tell me.”

_ No. Suck my fucking dick.  _ “I was hired to assassinate the Black Widow.”

“And?” Loki’s nails dragged themselves down the back of Clint’s neck and then back up his scalp, around his head, alighting the nerves and setting them on tingly fire. He groaned again, just as darkly, just as deliciously as before. The Mindfuck was clearly enjoying itself a lot more than he was.

_ And: she’s gonna kick your ass.  _ “And I didn’t.”  _ Like. All over this fucking city, man. You’ve got no hope. _

Loki leaned in a little closer, his fingernails working a slow and gentle rhythm up and down Clint’s neck, rubbing and soothing the tense, taut muscles there. It felt... good, relaxing, he knew what he was doing despite possibly differing anatomy, and it was getting harder and harder to just flat out ignore him, especially now that he was close enough to feel the chill coming off of him again.

“What did you  _ do _ , Agent Barton?”

_ Fuck you...  _ “... I investigated. I found out what they were doing to her.”

“Who?”

_ Fuck you, fuck YOU! Leave Nat OUT of this!  _ “She was a Soviet spy, trained in a facility they called the Red Room. She’d been experimented on, she was a lot older than I thought, and they’d been grooming her as an assassin. One of their  _ best _ assassins. Over seven-hundred targeted kills to her name. I believed it. She was beautiful, charismatic, sexy, and she had these amazing eyes... she could’ve easily killed me seven times over back when we worked together.”

Loki seemed to be enjoying where the conversation was leading, and his hand dropped a little lower, slipping beneath the back of Clint’s collar and working the muscles in the groove between his shoulder blades. “But you chose not to follow your orders? Agent Barton...” He grinned an absolutely sadistic grin, his one hand pausing its ministrations while the other gripped his chin and tilted it up, forcing eye contact once again. “Were you in  _ love? _ ”

Within the confines of the flesh prison he was trapped in, Clint felt his heart  _ actually _ skip a beat as his stomach dropped down  _ hard _ . Actual panic was starting to build up, and had he been in control of his own breath, he may have hyperventilated at the realization that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop what was about to happen.  _ No, no... PLEASE, no... _

“... Yes, sir.”

Loki was looking at him with absolute childish glee, as if all of his birthdays had just come at once. What had started out as building a necessary task force to execute his design had obviously turned into quite the exciting little hobby for him. 

“And, Agent Barton... are you _ still _ in love with her?”

_ No... fucking STOP, please...!  _ “Yes, sir.”

A gavel fell in Clint’s mind, and the sound of wood cracking against wood, almost like the sound of a coffin door slamming, echoed around the rather overcrowded area that was his head. That was it. He had betrayed her. His best friend, his comrade, the woman who had saved him in more ways than she had ever meant to and more ways than he even knew  _ how _ ... and in less than ninety seconds, he had betrayed her.

Loki sat back in his throne, fingers flirting across his own thin, porcelain lips. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he regarded the archer, sitting so alert and  _ ready _ next to him. The magic of the sceptre was deep inside his mind at this point, and the power he wielded with it was going to his head.

He wasn’t done with this beautiful, intriguing creature. He wanted to see to what extent he could push this cool, calm, collected human... how long it would take him to finally  _ break _ . 

If he ever even would.

A deliberate, slow grin spread across Loki’s face as the  _ alien _ \-- Clint reminded himself, because really, you couldn’t help  _ but  _ focus on the fact that this guy was from  _ outer fucking space _ \-- seemed to settle on what he wanted to do next. Clint waited with steeled nerves and baited breath, hoping to whoever might be willing to listen that he would dismiss him, and he could go and curl up somewhere and internally cry while the Mindfuck awaited new orders. 

Sadly, Clint Barton had never,  _ ever  _ been that lucky.

“Well, Agent Barton...  _ Hawkeye _ ... sadly, I do have to deal with my concerns about you.” A thin finger tapped against his chin, one leg folded gracefully over the other as he regarded the well-built man sitting beside him. “You see, sometimes when you acquire a pet, and that pet has former bonds of loyalty, you fear your pet may abandon you... may not realize that it now answers to a new Master.”

“I know who I answer to, sir.”

“Of course you do, Hawkeye. You know... but you haven’t been shown.”

Loki unfolded his legs using the most feminine grace Clint had ever seen a man move with, placing each leather boot neatly on the red carpet in front of him. Both hands rested on his knees, and he patted his hand against his thigh ever so slightly, which must’ve been a subconscious command because his muscles responded, lifting him out of the smaller throne that had been constructed for him and settling him on his knees right in front of the demi-God, where he mirrored the positioning of Loki’s hands and sat waiting, hoping that this would just be done with soon and the bastard would get bored of him. Mostly because it was freaking him out that he would actually much rather be out there shooting, killing, and exploding things under this guy’s control than letting him poke around in his brain anymore.

Loki let his eyes take their time in running over every inch of Clint’s body, drinking him in as if he were a strong, sweet mead. Clint focused on not letting his imagination run away with him; talking of proving loyalty was giving him terrifying mental images of the bastard asking him to cut off his fingers for him, or something. After what felt like years, Loki leaned forward in his throne with the creak and crunch of leather, taking Clint’s chin in one icy hand and drawing the man’s chin up to look at him, his thumb stroking the warm, stubbled cheek.

“You, little bird, are  _ mine _ ,” he whispered, his voice silken and dangerous, like a spider’s web. “And I will keep you caged until I can be sure you know your place in this world we are building together.”

“My place is at your side,” the Mindfuck responded immediately, as predicted. Loki giggled softly to himself, a sound of pure amusement.

“Good boy,” he crooned, dragging the print of his thumb lightly over Clint’s lower lip, then back across his top one, teasing every nerve ending he found and leaving it reluctantly begging for more. “I have no doubts you will learn, and quickly. You are far from foolish, Agent Barton... and even you know there is no hope for you now.”

With a gentle squeeze of his throat, which hid a silent and subconscious threat, Loki sighed happily and settled back in his throne. His hands fell to his parted knees, and he grinned cruelly at the human pet he was becoming more and more determined to keep as time went by. 

“Why don’t you show your Master just how much you are willing to serve him, little bird? And I may consider expanding the bars of your cage for a short time, if I feel you have earned some freedom.”

Clint would have been lying if he said he had absolutely no idea where this was going. The truth was, he’d watched enough dark, kinky pornos to be fully aware of what there was a possibility he may be forced to endure, but he had simply hoped he was being paranoid, anticipating the absolute worst case scenario in order to make whatever came at him easier to deal with by comparison. 

However, as his quads tightened to lift him closer to Loki, and both of his calloused hands fell to rest on slender, leather-wrapped thighs... he realized he actually may not have been being paranoid after all. 

“Whatever your wish,” whispered his own voice, entirely out of his control, “my body is yours.”

And with that, Clint’s heart forced itself up deep into the back of his throat as both of his hands left Loki’s inner thighs, fingers deftly unpicking the tie at the front of the demigod’s leather pants and parting the fabric slightly with all the tenderness and care of a generous lover. 

“Then,” said Loki through his grin, teasing and stroking a hand into the back of Clint’s hair, “show me what your body can do for me.”

Loki’s fingers snapped, and whatever magical illusion he’d had across his lap vanished, displaying for the first time just how hard the growing anticipation of what was about to happen had made him beneath his tight leather trousers. Despite how much effort the internally incarcerated man put forth, his right hand eased its way into the deity’s pants and wrapped around his length. It was cool and rock-hard against his warm, sweaty palm as he guided it out, freeing him from his leather prison. 

“Mmm,” purred Loki, inhaling and exhaling slowly. His hand squeezed the back of Clint’s neck before releasing him, and the alien draped both long, thin arms over each side of his throne, eagerly parting his thighs a little wider to give his little hawk more room to work. 

“Nothing but your best, Barton... nothing but your best.”

There was nothing he could do. He was absolutely helpless to the Mindfuck, which was determined to please its Master, and he gave a wild, hellish scream somewhere inside his head as his boots pushed him forward and his mouth opened, his warm lips wrapping lovingly around the very tip of Loki’s cock and kissing it firmly. Other than a light groan of encouragement as he sank a little deeper into his seat, the demigod was silent.

Clint’s tongue swept over the head, swirling around and around it with the same very slow, deliberate motions he had used in the past to draw cries and moans from every man he had ever slept with. Loki sighed happily, his hips still and controlled to allow Clint to do whatever he pleased... or rather, whatever the thing in his  _ head _ pleased, because Clint was going to whatever lengths he had to in order not to think about what his body was doing without his consent.

Such as pretending it wasn’t the deity’s cock he was passionately making out with, licking along the entire length of the underside from base to tip and back again. Such as pretending it was somebody else entirely. His bow hand joined the first, which was teasing its fingernails up and down the sides of the almost eight inches he was currently kissing and caressing; instead of paying tribute to Loki’s cock, it cupped his balls, squeezing and cradling them as his mouth closed around the head once more and he took a long, deep suck. His lips slid all the way down to his hand, deep-throating the would-be conqueror in a way Loki had no idea the human was even capable of.

Humans really  _ were _ built to serve, it seemed.

Clint was kneeling on the balls of his feet, working and teasing the base of Loki’s length as he leisurely began to push and pull the tight vacuum his lips formed against the shaft up and down it, taking his time to make sure his tongue was able to apply extra pressure in all the right places. Loki groaned again darkly, his narrow hips thrusting just an inch or so up to match Clint’s rhythm; he was going to enjoy every second of this, of claiming the very first human who had ever interested him even in the slightest. And he was going to make sure, whether he wanted to or not, that his little bird enjoyed it too.

“Yes, Barton, that’s right... good boy, just like that...” Loki’s words melted into a moan of ecstasy as Clint’s pace increased, beginning to pump him quickly with his tongue, cheeks, and lips as his hands worked to keep pace. 

“I wonder what other talents you’re keeping hidden from me,” he purred, reaching out to knot his fingers in the back of Clint’s hair again. His lips moved silently, mouthing one of his nicknames for his pet, but in his head, Clint was moaning a different name... and it wasn’t anything that belonged to his captor. 

_ Phil... _

Call him dirty, call him sick -- he didn’t care, and he knew that Coulson wouldn’t, either, were he aware of the situation. No, he would probably give Clint that knowing little grin he got, the one that turned his cheeks ever so slightly pink, and would whisper a bit of cruel encouragement into his ear whilst teasing the lobe with his teeth, as his hand wrapped around Clint’s length and...

Yeah. Yeah, that was enough. As his mental image of the man attached to the sex he was currently lavishing with love and attention changed, he thanked the powers that be for the fact that he still had at least  _ some _ of his own free will left, even if it  _ was _ just in his head.

_ Phil... oh my fucking gods, Phil... _

It actually wasn’t that difficult. His body was doing all of the things he would do for someone he cared about, all he needed to do was work a little imagination magic, and this experience would be nowhere near as traumatic as it could’ve been. Coulson, sprawled half-naked on his back on his leather couch when they both realized they’d only been watching the big game as an excuse to hang out and drink beer together. Coulson, with his shirt open and his tie loose, slightly tipsy and looking at him as if he wanted to devour him whole. Coulson, gripping his hair so tightly it hurt -- and he knew it hurt, and he knew Clint  _ liked _ that it hurt -- and fucking his mouth so brutally he swore he’d have a bruise at the back of his throat for weeks afterward.

_ Phil... _

“What are you thinking about, my little bird?”

Of course, it was Clint Barton’s luck that was being trifled with, and so it was always going to come up ‘bad’. With a deep moan, his mouth dragged itself up Loki’s cock for the last time before breaking free for a few moments to catch his breath and respond.

“I’m thinking about our future, sir.  _ He’s _ thinking about someone else.”

“Of course he is.” Loki chuckled to himself, the hand on Clint’s head gently massaging the tense muscles at the back of his neck. “Look at me, Hawkeye.”

The Mindfuck obediently tilted his chin up, substituting his right hand for his mouth and slowly pumping the deity’s warmed, wet cock as he gazed along the length of his body at him. 

“It’s really okay, Barton. Go ahead, do whatever it takes to enjoy yourself.” He brushed a few loose strands of ashy hair that had fallen free of the grip of the wax out of Clint’s eyes as the man’s mouth went back to kissing and licking the head of his cock, his eyes never leaving Loki’s. “You may as well take advantage of the small amount of free will you still have left,  _ while _ you still have it.”

While he still had it? What the hell was that supposed to mean,  _ while he still had it!? _

“Barton?”

In the peripheral of his vision, he recalled the sceptre leaning against the side of Loki’s throne, its soft blue glow pulsing in the lowered light of the room the deity had created for his own pleasure. His heart skipped another beat, remembering how it had... felt. He’d never experienced anything like it, and he’d done a  _ loooooooot _ of drugs in his circus days; the cold, fluid sensation of it creeping into his chest, following the paths of his veins, and sinking into his mind was one that still made his teeth stand on end, even now. He didn’t want that thing anywhere near him.

“Agent Barton? I’m talking to you. I know you can hear me in there... even if you can’t respond.”

Something in the alien’s tone of voice snapped Clint back to reality, as his hand continued to work with a mind of its own. He was staring up at him, though the way Loki was looking at him was... different. As if he were peering past his body, through his eyes, and into his...

...  _ sonuvabitch. _

“I understand this must be frustrating for you, but I promise, this shall pass.” He was grinning, as if talking to the man trapped  _ within _ the shell of a slave’s body was the most fun thing he had done all evening. His fingers continued to caress the side of Clint’s head, lovingly. “The human mind is an oddly complicated thing for how little it does... and to attempt to wipe it out in one fell swoop, well, I fear what it may do to you. Waste not want not, and besides, it means we get a little free time together before you become just a pleasant memory, and I am left with a perfectly obedient carbon copy of you to do with what I will.”

Clint stared at him --  _ actually _ stared at him, rather than just ignoring the fact that his eyes happened to be level with him -- as he realized the smug bastard was talking to  _ him _ . Not the Mindfuck, the thing he’d crammed into his brain, but  _ him _ . He listened, and as he was unable to command his mouth or tongue to do what he wanted, he settled for screaming internal responses and hoping his captor could hear them. 

Showing his teeth as he grinned, Loki released Clint’s hair and curled his hand around the base of his own girth, stroking himself casually. “But oh, it must  _ torment _ you, Barton. Such a capable and highly-developed warrior, reduced to this... a dutiful, respectful,  _ willing _ slave, unable to do anything but what I wish him to. What I  _ order _ him to. Wrapped around my little finger, my good little  _ cocksucker _ ...”

The cooling head of Loki’s very pale, very solid length brushed itself against his lower lip, pulling at the rough, chapped skin. He tasted of frost and something musky, not at all unpleasant, which only made it worse. And he was forced to kneel there in front of Loki, between his thighs, and make extended and intimate eye contact with him while he teased Clint’s mouth with his cock. 

“Does it bother you, Barton? How helpless you are?” 

As Clint’s mouth willingly, yet no doubt also very reluctantly, opened for him, Loki submerged just the very tip of himself into the hot, soft, wet, pliant mouth that served him so well, pushing it into the tongue that pushed back against him. 

“Does it make you sweat knowing I have such full and total control over you? Knowing that I can do anything I want...?” He laughed lightly to himself, his hand dragging his cock over Clint’s sharp teeth in a deliberate tease. “Do you want to bite me, Barton? Do you wish you could sink your teeth down... and teach me a lesson?” 

He rubbed his erection into Clint’s incisors, scraping the head against one of his canines, and chuckled again as he imagined what sort of internal hell he must be putting the much younger and no doubt more sexually inexperienced male through. “Come on, Barton... you know you can do it. You know you’re  _ stronger _ than this. Bite down... if you can. Bite down,  _ hard _ , and show me you’re more than just my cocksucker...”

When Clint had been on his hands and knees beneath the old motor, covered in dirt and pointedly ignoring the fact that he’d had to crawl over an anthill in order to reach the brake line and the little bastards were now biting his back and shoulders, he had clamped the sharp section of the pliers around the hydraulic line and squeezed with all his might, but it hadn’t budged. He was wiry and small and wasn’t that strong, and it had taken at least ten minutes for him to saw through the protective coating and the hose itself. Nothing had been more frustrating at that moment than the fact that he was too weak, too  _ feeble _ , to do what he knew he  _ needed _ to do in order to survive.

This moment took him back to that day under the car more than he cared to admit. It felt like his jaw was trembling, but he knew it wasn’t; he knew it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, or his optimism trying to encourage him, letting him think he was actually making headway when the truth was there was absolutely no way his free will could combat whatever magic had been playing with his brain for the past few hours. As the man stared back at him, unable to do little more than internally cuss him out as he grazed his cock back and forth against his upper and lower teeth, Loki giggled to himself, a sound that only exacerbated his prisoner’s rage and despair.

“It’s all right, Barton. For what it’s worth, I didn’t actually think you would be able to do it.” He let his cock fall, continuing his inch-in inch-out rhythm, just rubbing the underside of his length against Clint’s eager tongue now. “Perhaps initially, you may have been able to, if presented with an opportunity when you could focus well enough... but I’m afraid at this point, the reprogramming magics will have already gotten ahold of your mind, and well, I’m afraid at this point it’s really just a slow burn. All there is to look forward to now is the gradual sensation of your consciousness fading... until all that is left is the part of you that wishes to serve me.” He punctuated each of the last few words with a deep thrust of his hips to the back of Clint’s mouth. “Just. Like.  _ This! _ ”

His hands came up to the sides of the blond man’s head, and gripped his hair tightly as his hips left the seat and he  _ buried himself _ as  _ deeply _ as he could in Clint’s oral cavity. The man cried out, his eyes squeezing shut, and Loki wedged himself even further down the prisoner’s throat as his body shook and he  _ came _ , having been holding it back long enough now that he was more than ready to give his pet the good choking he deserved. 

It was both warm and cool at the same time, and thicker than he was used to. Clint coughed a few times, but the Mindfuck seemed to know what Loki wanted. As soon as the deity’s limp cock slid free from his mouth, he swallowed as much as he could, licking his lips clean and sitting back on his combat boots to catch his breath with his hands back in the ‘ready’ position on his thighs. 

_ Fuck... fuck... ugh... _

The room spiralled into silence, save for the very, very subtle sound of Loki’s calm, measured breaths. He was wearing a smirk and his eyes were closed, sitting back in his throne with his legs parted, a look of ecstasy all over his face. Slowly, those shimmering hues inched open, gazing down at Clint lovingly as his new pet finally stopped panting, looking drained... spent.

“Heh heh heh... oh, my sweet little bird. Are you tired?”

Loki rolled forward in his chair, one hand extending to delicately tease its way along his sharp jaw, before seizing a vicious fistful of hair, yanking the man’s head close in one short, sharp jerk that caused his neck to snap forward painfully, and he cried out as Loki’s lips touched his own.

“I would find a way to tap into your hidden strength reserves soon, Barton,” he threatened quietly, his lips brushing over Clint’s every time they moved. His eyes bored into the ones that glowed the same unnatural blue hue as the sceptre leaning against his throne, both pulsing in perfect synchronization. “Because I can assure you, we are far, far,  _ far _ from done here.” 

The alien prince -- his new  _ Master _ \-- chuckled cruelly as his little bird’s eyes widened, and deep within them, he could almost see the man whose body he had stolen cower before him in  _ fear _ . 

“And trust me, my little bird... by the time I am done making you mine...”

He kissed the archer’s lips again, tenderly, and smiled a deliciously evil smile.

“... you will love me as your King.”

**Author's Note:**

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